While the elder generation of the Uchiha reached consensus over tea, the younger generation—eager for change—was already moving toward unity.
After escorting the children, Uchiha Yashiro, Uchiha Hazuki, and Uchiha Fugaku did not disperse.
At Fugaku's sincere invitation, the three walked together toward the center of the training ground.
The sharp ring of drawn kunai cut through the morning mist.
Their figures crossed—
A spar, yet also a dialogue.
At the same time, members of the hawkish faction, acting swiftly, sought out their counterparts among the doves.
Ever since Ren and Mikoto had made their relationship public, the once tense atmosphere between the factions had shifted subtly.
At the very least—
They no longer rejected one another.
With the dovish faction acting as a bridge, both sides approached members of the clan head's faction as well.
Soon—
Sparring replaced suspicion.
In the Uchiha clan, nothing spoke louder than strength.
A fight conveyed more truth than any number of words.
After all—
Chakra was not only the fusion of physical and spiritual energy.
It was also the force that connected hearts.
Especially for the Uchiha—
Whose emotions ran deep and fierce.
For them, the suffocating pressure of division had long been like a compressed spring.
And when that pressure was released—
When chakra clashed openly—
They could truly feel one another.
"I understand your will."
"You understand my ambition."
Their spirits surged.
Their power rose—
Rapidly, violently.
The glow within their Sharingan burned brighter than crimson blossoms.
Laughter rang out.
Ninjutsu roared.
Explosions thundered.
Steel clashed.
The training ground echoed like a storm.
—
"Fugaku-sama. Please guide me."
Dozens of Sharingan fixed upon the center of the field.
Yashiro's three tomoe spun slowly, crimson light deepening.
His stance lowered.
The blade in his hand angled toward the ground as chakra surged from his feet, stirring invisible currents around him—
The opening stance of the Uchiha Style: Gale Blade.
Chakra flowed through his body like a rushing stream.
A pale green glow spread from his palm, wrapping around the blade.
The air itself trembled—
As if countless unseen threads were tightening.
In the hands of an elite Uchiha with three tomoe—
This sword art rivaled even S-rank techniques.
Fugaku nodded calmly.
His stance was traditional.
Effortless.
His left hand rested lightly on the sheath.
His right gripped the hilt.
Chakra shifted—
Fire nature igniting within the blade.
Through the sheath, the weapon glowed faintly—
Like molten lava beneath the surface.
Heat shimmered in the air.
"Begin."
Before the word fully faded—
Yashiro moved.
Like wind itself.
His blade cut forward—
Vacuum pressure tearing through the air.
First Form: Dust Whirlwind Slash.
The ground split.
Deep grooves carved into the earth as debris scattered violently.
The attack surged toward Fugaku.
Fugaku's Sharingan spun.
At the final instant—
He drew.
Steel sang.
Flames erupted—
Uchiha Style: Iaijutsu, Flame Leap.
Crimson fire met the pale wind—
And collided.
A blinding explosion.
Heat spread outward in a violent wave.
Clothes whipped.
Observers instinctively analyzed—
How would they respond?
At the same time—
Yashiro's technique was being dissected within Fugaku's gaze.
Every movement.
Every flow.
Laid bare.
Yashiro twisted mid-strike—
Continuing without pause.
Second Form: Claw Wind.
Four condensed wind blades manifested—
Like talons tearing through the air.
All escape routes sealed.
But Fugaku—
Did not resist.
His footwork shifted subtly.
At the last possible moment—
He slipped through the gaps.
The blade returned to its sheath—
Then—
In less than a blink—
His form blurred.
Body Flicker.
Distance closed instantly.
"Clang—!"
Steel collided.
Fugaku's stance transformed—
From calm to explosive.
A lightning-fast draw cut toward Yashiro's center.
"Strong…"
Yashiro's pupils shrank.
"But still not on Ren-sama's level!"
His Sharingan spun wildly.
Tracking every fluctuation.
He leapt—
Pouring all his chakra into the blade.
A spiraling storm formed.
Fourth Form: Rising Sandstorm.
A vortex of wind descended.
The ground tore upward—
Debris spiraling into the sky.
Fugaku did not retreat.
His blade ignited—
Becoming a streak of dawn light.
He pierced the weakest point—
The eye of the storm.
Flame surged again.
A second eruption.
Like magma bursting forth—
Tearing the vortex apart.
Fire and wind clashed violently—
Then scattered.
The explosion bloomed—
Like fleeting cherry blossoms in the sky.
Then collapsed into a shockwave.
Their figures crossed within the aftermath.
In that fleeting instant—
Yashiro's wrist flicked.
Third Form: Clear Sky Wind Tree.
Three rapid thrusts descended like talons.
Fugaku responded instantly—
A pure, flawless draw.
His blade cut through the air—
As though even light had been severed.
Then—
Silence.
The final note of steel faded.
They stood back to back.
Dozens of meters apart.
Yashiro dropped to one knee—
Breathing heavily.
His sleeve was scorched black.
Smoke curled faintly upward.
Fugaku remained composed.
His breathing steady.
As he sheathed his blade—
His wrist turned subtly—
Concealing the torn fragments of his own clothing.
No one noticed.
"Clink."
The blade returned to rest.
Fugaku looked toward Yashiro.
A hint of admiration passed through his eyes.
"As expected of the Gale Blade style created by Ren."
"A worthy addition to the clan's legacy."
Around them—
Uchiha laughed.
In this world—
No one mastered adaptation quite like the Uchiha.
◇ BONUS & SUPPORT ◇
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 10 reviews — drop a comment!
◇ 1 bonus chapter for every 100 Power Stones.
◇ Read chapters ahead on Patreon → patreon.com/c/CrimsonHub